


Sprouting A Smile

by ArdenInTheGarden



Category: Smile For Me (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, OC/Canon Character, Post-Game(s), Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-07-23 15:19:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20010460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArdenInTheGarden/pseuds/ArdenInTheGarden
Summary: A flower shop, a reunion, and a broken engagement. What could go wrong? It's been a year since the events that took place at the Habitat, and the same amount of time since anyone has heard word from Dr. Habit. When his new location is uncovered, how will a former Habitician react?





	1. Chapter 1

Elliott reread the letter in his hand another time as he stared at the rather rundown building in front of him.

"Important to see." along with an address was all that was written--he supposed it wasn't really much of a letter, but it had come in an envelope through the post, and that made it a letter. It had been signed with a drawing of a flower and the initials "FK", and even though it had been a year since he had seen them, he knew it had come from Flower Kid.

What he _didn't know_ was why he had been summoned to this place. It looked like it had been set up hastily, with no sign actually existing on it to say what it was. He assumed it was a flower shop of some kind, due to the massive number of all sorts of plants in pots and bouquets and bundled together. It made a lot of sense that Flower Kid would have followed on with their family business, especially since they had shown a knack for growing things.

He pushed open the door to the storefront, peering inside with a smile on his face. "Hello?" The inside of the store was in better shape than the front was, that was for sure. Things were beautifully arranged, even if there was an air of chaos and disorder to it. Like someone had arranged things based on whim and love rather than for pricing or, well, professionality. But hey, that wasn't a bad thing!

Elliott was peering at a bouquet of mostly orange and red blooms when a loud voice called out to him. "Helloooooooo!"

The lanky man spun on his heels, and both men stared at one another in shock. " _Doctor Habit?_ " There he was! After an entire year, there was the man in the flesh.

Dr. Habit looked different, but it was still him, no doubt. He had shed his thick coat, now wearing a rather endearingly tacky Hawaiian shirt. He had his hair pulled back into a thick bun that fanned around him like a halo, studded with numerous tooth-lillies. His eyes were wide, looking over the man before him.

"It's you! Oh my goodie-goodness! I haven't seen my friends in so long!" He sprinted forward, grabbing Elliott by the shoulders and shaking him. "How did you come so very quickly? I just started my store yesterday!" He danced in place, releasing Elliott and tending to a display of flowers.

"Oh, I, uh, was around. I thought this place looked nice." He scratched his neck, watching the doctor as he practically fluttered around the store to tend to different things. He was still full of energy, moving in quick, sudden beelines. "Doctor--"

"Oh no no no, don't call me doctor anymore! That sounds so stuffy-meanie! You can call me something else, hm?" He didn't offer any suggestions, leaving the conversation at that.

"Oh. Right. Can I call you...Boris?" Elliott approached him, but stayed at a reasonable enough distance so as not to encroach on his space.

"That's what my parents used to call me." All joy and warmth left him immediately as he turned to face the American. "No one gets to call me that." He stared for a half a second longer before laughing nervously and turning away, aimlessly fidgeting with the edge of his apron. "Besides, that wouldn't be very funsies, would it?" He shifted and moved, trying not to stay in one place any longer than he had to be, but it wasn't with the genuine enthusiasm of before. It was painfully obvious that he was simply smiling through his struggles.

Elliott watched him move, and slowly came up and wrapped him in a hug. "It's hard. I--look, I don't know what they did to you, but whatever it was you didn't deserve it. Sometimes the people that are supposed to care about you are the ones that hurt you the most, and it isn't right, and it isn't okay, and you don't have to accept it."

"No! You have to smile! That's how people are happy! If you don't smile you can't be happy!" The florist pulled away, looking rather frantic as he tugged on his hair and rubbed the lily petals between his fingertips. "Frowning makes you sad!"

He held his tongue, recalling the conversation he had had with Flower Kid. They explained the conversations they'd had with Habit, and his belief that the way to be happy was to smile through any pain you felt, and to push away any negative emotion and mask it with the kind of grin that tore you apart inside. At what point did a mask become a part of your face too difficult to take off? At what point was there nothing left underneath?

Elliott took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck for some kind of moral support from himself. “My parents--” He paused, already feeling the anxiety rising within himself. “My parents weren’t good people. My father tried, but my mother was cruel to the core, and she got him into a lot of trouble. They did bad things to my brother and I, and when they passed it was--it was just us two, and he was worse than they were. And I spent a lot of years feeling like I deserved it, and finding ways to tell myself I had messed up somehow, and that anything that happened to me was my fault. I thought if I ignored it and was just happy that I could get over it. But it doesn’t work! There’s a _reason_ I came to the Habitat! It isn't healthy and it doesn't work, and honestly I'm _scared for you!"_

He finished his impassioned plea for leniency on the part of the florist for himself, panting slightly from the effort of keeping himself in check and yelling in the middle of a flower shop--this wasn't how he'd expected his day to be going. What he was expecting _even less_ was for the other man to simply begin sobbing. He had expected to be yelled at, or perhaps meek acceptance, or, Hell, even a punch to the face and being told he had to leave. But this? _This?_

"Hey! Whoa, hey, come on! Come here, come here." He tried to coax him into a hug, or at least something to comfort him since he was the reason he was in absolute hysterics. Thankfully, the florist complied, and practically broke Elliott's ribs in the crushing embrace as he wept. _Jesus_ this dude was strong. “Go ahead, let it out. I’ve got you.”

“Why is it so hard? Why can’t I just smile and make it all go away? That’s what the Habitat was for! That’s what I was trying to do!” The florist was sniffling and bawling and carrying on in a way that made Elliott’s heart ache, and he held him just a little closer. “It was supposed to fix it all! They never smiled and they were bad people! I don’t want to be a bad person, I have to smile!”

People outside the shop that walked by were staring now, having stopped outside the open doorway to watch the scene unfold. Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God. He had made a lot of progress with his social anxiety, but being stared at wasn’t something he was ready for. He had to hold it together though, he had to just take it, for Habit’s sake. He deserved someone’s support, and it was clear he was severely overdue for it.

“Not smiling doesn’t make you a bad person, I promise. Why--why don’t we go somewhere else? We can close up shop a little early and have tea at my apartment, right? Right. Take a deep breath, don’t worry.” He spoke as softly as possible, trying to be soothing without stopping him from being allowed to express his emotions.

Thankfully, Habit seemed willing to accept this, and slowly made his way around the shop to shut it down, not releasing the death-grip he had on the American’s wrist. It took longer than either man would have hoped, but the deed got done, and that’s what mattered. He wiped at his face aggressively, sniffling as he tugged off his apron. “Done done done.” He offered a weak smile, unsure of what else he could do. “Are you ready?”

“I’m ready, don’t worry. We’ll go back to the apartment and have a quiet night, hm?” Elliott was practically cooing at this point, holding Habit’s hand tightly and gently rubbing it between his own. What else could he do in order to comfort the poor dear? He needed help and love and support, and he would offer as much of all those things as he possibly could. He deserved this, really and truly, and while Elliott was only one man and could only do so much, he was determined to make things right.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time they stumbled up the steps to Elliott's apartment, Habit had calmed himself down enough to not be causing a scene in public--though it had taken a fair chunk of the walk to get to that point.

"Here we are, home sweet home! It's not much but it's better than nothing, eh? It'll just be us tonight." Elliott struggled with the keys, cursing life as he fumbled them a few times in his attempt at getting the door unlocked one-handed. He was incredibly reluctant to release Habit's hand, and got the door open faster than he had ever managed to before in his life. This time he had something important to get back to holding.

Something immediately smashed against the wall beside them, and Elliott jumped. “Wh--!”

 _”En garde!”_ Another item cracked against the wall, and Warren leaped to the door triumphantly. “Why’d ya take so long?”

Habit looked down at her in genuine surprise and confusion, stiffening his posture as he watched her emerge from the interior of the home. She had gotten bigger since he saw her the last time, and it was good to see her again. He had been worried about what would happen to all his Habiticians, but especially the children. They were all so little, even if every last one of them was feisty enough to believe they could look after themselves.

“I--had to stop and get someone. Weren’t you--why--I thought you were staying the night with Putunia!?” The last thing he had expected to come home to was Warren, and this definitely threw a wrench into the plans he had made--even if they had only existed for a few minutes.

“I am, but ‘er mums aren’t over yet.” She shrugged before dramatically laying across the sofa. She had truly missed her calling as a lady of antiquity, being able to faint on a sofa anytime something remotely stressful happened. Well, she was certain that fit Elliott more. She would rather be a knight or something. Could girls be knights? She was certain they--oh Elliott was still talking to her.

“Warren? You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?” Elliott was holding Habit’s hand still, both men awkwardly hovering in the doorway. Maybe they could convince her to move so they could come inside…?

“YooOOOOoohoooooo!” A voice called out from behind them, and all three of them jumped at the sound. Leaned against the railing, with all the carefree attitude of a woman in love, Jerafina was comfortably waiting. “Warren, are you readyyyy? Lulu’s got dinner going right now. We’re having spaghettiiii!” She laughed, pushing off from the steps and jogging up them with ease. “Putunia’s been waiting all day for you.”

“Oh!” She seemed genuinely delighted by this, pushing past the two men to grab Jerafina in a hug. “Bye Mum, I’ll see ya tomorrow!”

“I’ll keep her safe, don’t you worry.” The teacher laughed, a warm, bubbly sound that eased the anxiety in the florist’s heart at seeing yet another Habitician. “Good to see you again, Doc.” She winked, and with that the child was ushered away into a little car that looked nothing like the flirtatious woman would choose to drive--but such was life. Outside of the Habitat, everything was unpredictable.

“...huh. Okay, well, uh...I suppose _now_ it’s just you and I tonight?” Elliott slowly shut the apartment door, holding Habit’s hand gently between his own and rubbing his knuckles a bit. “We can just stay inside for the night. Are you hungry? Did you eat today? I was gonna get food for dinner, and there’s a place nearby that does pirozhki?” He was rambling at this point, absentmindedly holding onto the florist with as much tenderness as he could manage.

“I...I’d like that, yes.” He couldn’t fight the blush that rose in his cheeks, painting his skin with a mark of embarrassment. It had been a long time since anyone had simply touched him, he had forgotten what simple bliss was contained within contact. “When did you get a child?”

“After the Habitat closed, Warren needed somewhere to go. And, well, we had spent a lot of time together, and she trusted me. We got help from that lawyer man--Mr. Botch was very helpful in the process, actually. He still babysits sometimes, but I still don’t work as often as I’d like to. It’s still hard to be seen sometimes.” He chuckled awkwardly, embarrassed by the stranglehold his anxiety managed to keep on his life, even after therapy and the Habitat and gaining a few friends.

“The herb man…” Habit echoed, allowing himself to be guided toward the sofa. He was grateful for the chance to sit down, but especially when it was accompanied by being touched.

There they sat, hand in hand, their bodies leaned together. The florist smelled of blossoms, the American of floral perfume, and between them a field of flowers seemed to stretch infinitely. The warmth of human contact bubbled up within them like a candle burning in their bellies.

 _This_ was what they had both been looking for. The act of kindness and forgiveness was the most revolutionary action they were capable of, and they were legendary combatants against the apathy and disdain that seemed to haunt the world. Most of the Habiticians had come to forgive the former dentist, and accept that he had changed, but it was another thing entirely to have him in your home and wrapped in an embrace.

This was a shield. Habit felt safe and secure, like nothing could get through and harm him. He hadn’t felt this way in...ever. Ever since his smile was hurt, he felt unable to trust or truly be safe around others. But this was _different_ , and he couldn’t fight back the tears that once again flooded down his face.

“Do you want to talk about it?” A gentle hand cupped the florist’s cheek, his tone soft as flower petals.

“No, I’m fine.” Habit hiccuped, trying to wipe at his face with a half-hearted gesture. He didn’t want to be crying, he really didn’t, and doing so made him feel guilty and weak. He was still struggling to wrap his head around the fact that it was okay not to smile, but in this moment he felt safe enough to cry. This was more in a day than he’d done in a decade at least.

“I don’t think you’re fine, but I’m not going to force you to talk.” Elliott reached behind Habit, letting the taller man rest his chin on his shoulder. It was rare he encountered men taller than him, but Habit was on another level entirely. He carefully undid the bun and began braiding his thick hair, thankful when the florist didn’t protest and even seemed to enjoy it.

“Thank you.” He closed his eyes, soaking in the peace of the moment. The only sound that passed between them were the occasional sniffles from Habit, and eventually a yawn. This day had been more...well just _more_ than he had expected, and the stress of it all hit him like a train. Maybe it would be okay to nap on the couch…?

“You can, or you could sleep in the bed.” Oh. He had been talking out loud. “It’s just us tonight, so I can sleep in Warren’s bed if you’d like some privacy, or I can walk you home?”

“No! No, I don’t want to leave yet.” Habit surprised himself with how strongly he reacted, and took a second to gather his thoughts together. “I’d like to get a little sleep, but...could you wait to leave until then? I don’t want to be all by myself.” He ran his fingers over his now braided hair, enjoying the feeling of the plaited strands.

Elliott laughed, surprised by how forward the florist was. “Yes, I think I can do that. Would you rather I pulled up a chair or sat on the edge of the bed?” With a grunt, he was up to his feet, Habit’s forearm held between his hands as he attempted to ease him up as well.

“I’m not picky, not at all.” He waved a hand dismissively, turning to hide his face from his new friend. He felt like a child again, asking permission from the lily to give it a kiss. Friendship was inherently vulnerable, and being vulnerable was inherently embarrassing, but he wasn’t regretting a single bit of this so far. What luck that his friend had wandered into the shop right as he needed him!

It wasn’t difficult to lead the Russian through the small apartment, but they both stared for a moment at the bed. There was no way in Hell he was going to fit into it without curling up, but it was the best they could do. “Sorry it’s, uh, kinda small. I had to fight to fit a queen size in here, and it’s more than enough usually.”

“Oh no, it’s fine! I don’t _ever_ fit in any of them.” He slid his shoes off and crawled under the blankets with all the eagerness of a puppy loosed in a field for the first time, and Elliott couldn’t deny how it made his heart ache.

“Well! Good. I mean--not _good_ of course but you know what I mean--? Aha...” He trailed off, but yelped in surprise when he was engulfed in a hug and pulled in to snuggle. “I--oh! Okay! Sure!”

“You needed a hug too.” The florist murmured, closing his eyes and settling into the blankets to sleep.

Well...this wasn’t so bad.


	3. Chapter 3

It was dark when Elliott awoke, groggily rubbing at his eyes. It took a moment of panic before he remembered who was in his bed and wrapped around him like a python trying to feed. Satisfied someone wasn’t attempting to strangle him to death, he settled back against the pillows. He stared at the ceiling and counted the glow in the dark stars that formed out constellations, counting them as he let his eyes flicker between each one.

_One. Two. Three._

Was this too good to be true?

_Four. Five. Six._

Was he reading too far into something that wasn’t there?

_Seven. Eight. Nine._

Was he going to be let down?

_Ten. Eleven. Twelve._

Should he give up now?

_Orion. Cignus. Ursa Major._

The near poetic fear that swirled lazily through his mind was bittersweet and intoxicatingly strong in its hold over him. Even with a sky full of stars he found himself distracted by the darkness in between them. Maybe that was human nature? Seeing the dark and not the stars.

But now he was just getting sappy. 

He rolled over, watching Boris sleep. He wore a look of unease, anxiety creeping over his features and creasing his forehead. Even in sleep he seemed to be running from something. It was only another minute or so before he cracked open an eye.

“Good mor--”

He didn’t finish his sentence before he was sent sprawling, a sharp pain in his jaw. Blood dribbled down onto the floor from his busted lip. He stared upwards, too stunned to move or even truly think. Habit had hit him.

Habit had _hit him_.

The Russian was pressed against the bedroom wall, one hand over his mouth as he stared at someone that didn’t appear to be there. But he _was!_ Habit was staring at his father, the wide grin splitting across his face--the only time he ever smiled. Where Elliott saw only open air, Boris saw a man that struck fear through him, and he locked up.

He could still smell his father’s cologne, and the sharp pain on his scalp from where he had been pulled to look him in the eye--those horrible, bloodshot eyes. It had been another bad night, отец had been drinking, the smell was nauseatingly strong, the breath on his face almost painfully hot. He tried to speak, tried to answer the demands of what he was doing, why he was doing this with the plant, why he couldn’t just be a good child, why he was so--

_“--Habit? Listen to my voice, do you remember where you are?”_

He could hear a voice, talking to him from somewhere that felt too far away, but it felt drowned out by the voice right in his face, and the creaking of the floorboards in his old bedroom. The third board from the side of the bed, the one he was always careful not to touch, where he kept his lily seeds, his stuffed animals--all his secrets.

_“It’s Elliott, you’re in my apartment. What does it look like? Can you tell me what you see when you look around?”_

The fuzzy voice was still talking and he liked the way it sounded, all warm and sunshiney and impossibly gentle. He forced his eyes off the sickening grin that was too close to his face and looked around. “I-I see a bookshelf, and a drawing of a cat, and a box of tissues.” Just thinking about the tissues made his nose itch, and he closed his eyes tightly to focus on that instead.

“Good! You’re in my bedroom, do you remember that? Today is Thursday, and yesterday when I met you, you were in your shop, and we came home. Can you tell me what colours the walls are?"

"Blue. They're blue, and the sheets are green, and--and it's dark, and warm, and smells like flowers." He took a breath, his heart pounding as he slid down against the wall and sat on the floor. отец was gone now, his fear no longer stood in front of him.

"Habit? May I touch you?" Elliott didn't move from where he was standing, watching the man on the floor. He shook his head, not looking up from where he had buried his face in his hands. That was fine. "That's okay! I'll sit over here. Or I could make tea? I'll go make tea."

Habit nodded again, staying rooted to the spot. After a moment of hesitation, Elliott slowly made his way into the kitchen. Tea would help, right? He didn't have much else to offer, especially in the way of non-physical comfort. Unless he wanted whiskey, but maybe not now. This didn't seem to be the right time for that.

He glanced at the clock that hung over the doorway, grimacing at the time. Two in the morning. It was at least early enough they could try to go back to sleep, but he wasn't sure how Habit would take that. Maybe he should leave him to sleep in the bed and go take Warren's instead? Speaking of…

Elliott peered into the bathroom, flicking the light on and wincing at the sight of himself. His face was already bruising, but there wasn't much he could do about it at this point, just put an icepack on it and hope his lip healed up alright. Hopefully he could pretend he had just rolled out of bed, the poor thing didn't need any guilt added onto him.

He strolled back to the kitchen, hoping the tea would have gotten the chance to be ready to be made. A watched pot never boiled, but a watched kettle would still be warming up when his grandchildren got there. Lord Almighty, this was taking forever. He just wanted to get hack to Habit, and hold his hand, but he COULDN'T, so maybe just STAND IN THE SAME ROOM, but that felt too impersonal, and this was HARDER THAN IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE.

He jumped out of his skins when the kettle whistled, alerting him to the fact that he had been lost in thought for longer than he probably should have been. Oops.

He had never been much one for tea, but he grew accustomed to drinking it, and it always did wonders for when he was feeling poorly--an admittedly large portion of the time. Which is what made it so surprising and foreign to suddenly have a position of caretaking foisted upon him. Habit was absolutely scalding to the touch when he grabbed onto the barber as he entered the room with tea, his face radiating a feverish heat.

"Habit, you're--"

"Call me Boris. I want to hear it from someone who isn't mad." He held tighter to Elliott, his eyes closed and his face nuzzled into his stomach

“Of course. Boris, darling, you’re burning up...have you been getting any sleep?” He remembered the nightmares from fevers with a grimace, certain that if Boris had had one it was certainly not doing any favours for his flashbacks. This was what they used to call shell shock, right? The poor thing…

“Mm...no. I’ve been too busy.” He sniffed, wrinkling his nose and leaning heavily against the barber. He had been far far _FAR_ too busy to sleep more than an hour or two, and it was hitting him hard now. But there had been so much to do to get his shop ready for business, and send out letters to all the neighbours, and getting _himself _ready to be seen by other people! It was just all too much these past couple of weeks.__

__“How about you drink a glass of tea and then try and get a bit more sleep? Does that sound good?” He ran his fingers over Habit’s back, speaking softly to him. He could _feel_ the knotted muscles under his fingertips, and Boris pulled away slightly at the touch. “Ah! Sorry, sorry, I’ll be more careful.”_ _

__After a bit of coaxing, he got the taller man to accept the tea from his position where he was rested against Elliott’s stomach. He was comfortable, not wanting to get up from where he was. The tea felt nice on his throat, and it tasted sweet and warm and cozy. Like a hug in a cup._ _

__The florist looked up, his eyes dropping with exhaustion. “Sleep?”_ _

__“Yes, dear. Sleep.”_ _


End file.
